


Project Partners

by BeelsBae



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Seduction, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Longer than I meant it to be yet again, Masturbation, Maybe sex magic?, Mild Injury, Sex on Furniture, Shady Sorcerer, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeelsBae/pseuds/BeelsBae
Summary: You and Solomon have been asked to create a guide for demon-human sexual relationships by Lord Diavolo. Learning that you’ve grown quite close with your demon roomies, Solomon determines to make an ally of you by taking your friendship to the next level.Assumes that MC has intimate relationships (such as described in my other one-shots) with all the demons in the House of Lamentation. #TeamHaremTW: Seduction and sex while drinking. Verbal consent given, but am putting the warning because the drinking plays a role in the smut plot.
Relationships: Main Character/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 375





	Project Partners

**Author's Note:**

> Counting this post for the Obey May! art challenge, May 28, 2020: Drinking Night
> 
> I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in so long! Work has been super busy. Anyway, have this Solomon fic that is destined to be out of character because we know so little about him, and who knows what the next chapters in the game may bring. *sigh* Also, Solomon had the AUDACITY to take 8k words and only make, like, 1/4 of them smut. Sorry bout that.

“Sorry you got roped into this.” You and Solomon had been given a rather unique extra credit assignment from Lord Diavolo earlier that week— _Create a comprehensive guide to demon-human sexual relations, something that could be used in a sex education course here at RAD, for example!_ —and the two of you are just now getting started, setting up your workstation in front of the fireplace in the common room at the House of Lamentation.

Extra credit or no, you’re convinced this whole project is just another of Lord Diavolo’s self-indulgent schemes that he’s designed for his own entertainment. But on the off chance that it might be used by any demons in the future, you’re determined to take it seriously. In fact, you'll deliver the best damn guide to ever be used in any _Human-Demon Relations 101_ course. And that will require you to be _very_ detailed and _very_ technical, so whatever hopes Lord Diavolo has of some cheap entertainment are going to be dashed – you’ll make sure of it.

“What do you mean?” Solomon asks, pulling a bottle of an amber liquor out of his book bag. You eye it curiously, and he smiles. “I was able to get my hands on some whiskey this week, and I thought you might enjoy something a little more appealing than Demonus, for a change. Unless you don’t drink?”

“Actually, that sounds great.” You say, surprised. The blue label on the bottle tells you that this is the good stuff.

“Perfect.”

Solomon grabs a pair of crystal drinking glasses from a cabinet on the other end of the room and returns to pour you both a decent amount. Before handing you the glass, he holds it in his outstretched hand for a moment while fog condenses on the crystal. When you take it from him, the glass is cold. “Uh, wow, thanks!” You say, taking a sip. The liquor burns your throat pleasantly, but you nearly cough at the strength of the beverage – it’s been a while since you had any human-world liquor.

“It’s nice, right?” Solomon says as he settles back into his seat next to you on the couch. The room is quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. It’s pretty late, after all, since you had to wait for Solomon to finish up some business earlier in the evening. “It is nice.” You admit, taking another sip. “Anyway, what I was trying to say was that I’m sorry that you have to worry about this extra assignment. I know you already spend a lot of time studying, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault we have to do this.”

Solomon looks at you, chuckling. “You mean, your relationship with Lucifer?”

You dart your eyes up quickly to catch his amused expression, finding yourself unable to hide your own grin. You aren’t shy about your relationship with Lucifer, but it isn’t something you expected Solomon to know about, and it’s not like you two are a couple – not really. “Hm,” You murmur, taking a sip of your glass for some added fortitude. “How do you know about that?” Surely Lucifer isn’t going around bragging about his exploits with the human exchange student.

“I may not live with you, but I spend time with the brothers too, you know.” Solomon leans back into the couch, smiling, one hand effortlessly cradling his glass. “Everyone in the House of Lamentation is aware of your... involvement.”

“I see.” You dip your head to hide your embarrassed smile. You _knew_ the other brothers knew, but you didn’t know that they – or _someone_ – had felt the need to talk about it. Oh, _of course_. _Asmodeus._ Who else would gossip so freely and about something so intimate? The Avatar of Lust can hardly resist top-tier gossip. He’s always trying to get on Solomon’s good side, you’d noticed, so surely this was just one of those attempts to engage the sorcerer’s attention. _What’s surprising is that it’s_ all _Asmo seems to have told him_.

“So, was it what you expected?” Solomon’s voice is nonchalant, casual.

You glance up again, surprised at his question. “You mean, with Lucifer?”

“With a demon.”

“Well, I mean, that’s hard to say.” You answer slowly. “I’m not sure I had any specific expectations. I guess I already knew from all of Asmo’s stories that everything is, uh, anatomically compatible.” You giggle. It’s kind of a relief to talk about this with another human, you realize. It’s not like you found being intimate with the brothers concerning, but talking about it is putting things in perspective; sleeping with seven of the most powerful demons in Devildom is not _normal_ for a human, after all. “I mean, obviously it all _works_ , or this whole project wouldn’t be necessary.” You gesture at the papers on the table in front of you.

“That’s true.” Solomon concedes. The firelight illuminates his fair skin and hair, creating a contrast with his dark turtleneck. It helps that he’s not wearing his cloak tonight. It’s almost like the two of you are just normal human students working on a partnered project together. “Still,” Solomon continues, “It’s not every day a human gets to experience what it’s like with a supernatural being.”

You take a sip from your glass before setting it down on the table, a good deal emptier than before, and lean back as you begin speaking. “Honestly, I’m not even sure what it’s _like_ , you know?” You start before realizing what you’re saying. “It’s impossible to really describe sex with a demon, generally speaking. I mean, they’re just so different from one another.”

Solomon’s grin widens. “Wait,” He says, leaning forward. “Are you telling me Lucifer isn’t the only demon you’ve been with?” This is a piece of intriguing information, indeed. He’d half expected your relationship with Lucifer, given the Avatar of Pride’s demanding nature, but the depth of your involvement with the others – this is unexpected.

You feel color rising in your cheeks. “Wh-! I-” You stumble over your response. “Maybe!”

“Who else?” Solomon prompts, clearly entertained by the whole thing. “I won’t tell the others.”

“Uhm, well… Okay.” You raise your glass to your lips one more time, emptying it before setting it back on the table. _Might as well just put it out there_. “I guess, you know, at some point or another,” You’re stalling, and Solomon’s eyebrows raise curiously. “I’ve been with, uh, a-all the brothers.” There. You said it.

The sorcerer bursts out laughing, almost sloshing the whiskey out of his glass. You follow suit, giggling into your hands as you hide your face. “God! It sounds so bad when I say it out loud.” You groan. “But it’s not what you think!” You start defending yourself as you lower your hands to see Solomon’s head bent in laughter as he struggles to rein himself in.

“MC, you’ll receive no judgement from me.” Solomon says, finally, still chuckling. “I have pacts with seventy-two demons, after all.”

You find yourself smiling back at him. For all his apparent amusement, Solomon really doesn’t seem to be making a moral evaluation of your sexually liberal conduct. 

“And I suppose it is only natural they’d be interested in a girl like you.” He adds, grabbing the whiskey bottle to add a shots-worth to both your glasses.

You eye him uncertainly, unsure of his meaning and a little annoyed at his use of the term _girl_. “It really isn’t like that.” You insist. “I really care about each one of them.” You look down at your hands, suddenly blushing.

You mean it, Solomon thinks, reclining back on the couch. These demons are important to you. He exhales – that can’t be easy. “We don’t have to talk about it,” He assures you. “Although I guess it’s good to have someone so _experienced_ working on this project.” Solomon watches you over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.

You throw him a smirk. “Well, I haven’t tried _everything_. And Diavolo wants us to be thorough. Meaning, not just from the female perspective.” You raise your eyebrows pointedly. “Perhaps you have experience you can draw on here, as well.” You pick up your glass. The whiskey is warm as it hits your throat.

Solomon smiles at your playfulness. “Perhaps.”

A sudden thought enters your mind, and you tap your fingers along your glass anxiously. “Do you think Diavolo knows?” This is actually a bit worrisome, you think. After all, you are representing the entirety of the human realm, and your behavior might set an unwarranted precedent for the future of demon-human interaction.

“That you’ve collected the set?” Solomon teases another smile from you. “I doubt it. Besides, if you’re worried about how this all looks, you should remember two things.” He holds up a finger. “One, demons don’t find sex remotely shameful. Intimate, personal, fun, yes, but not _immoral_.” He holds up a second finger. “Two, I’ve been on my best behavior, so you don’t have to worry about ruining the reputation of all humanity while you’re having your fun in the Devildom.”

You let out a light scoff, and your voice is flat with disbelief. “Really. You’ve _really_ remained perfectly innocent while trying to get every demon you meet to make a pact with you?” You’re not entirely teasing him. You don’t know Solomon all that well, even after spending months taking classes at RAD alongside him, but you’re pretty sure that no one makes pacts with seventy-two demons without getting a little mud on them.

“Hey, I didn’t give you a hard time about sleeping with the entire House of Lamentation, so I’d rather you not get high and mighty with me.” Solomon says good-naturedly, and you notice for the first time how handsome his smile is. “Besides, for me, a pact is like a business deal. It’s about power. It’s not about a personal relationship.”

“Not one to mix business and pleasure, then.” You comment offhandedly, taking a sip of your drink.

Solomon chuckles, flashing his disarming smile. “I wouldn’t say that. Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” He nods towards the forgotten project.

You’re not sure why you blush at his words, but you choose not to answer, turning your attention to the notes in front of you. He probably hadn’t intended his comment to be a reminder that there’s work to be done, not really, but that doesn’t change the fact that there _is_ work to be done, here.

***

As the evening progresses, Solomon mulls over what you’ve told him tonight. You’ve managed to surprise him, demonstrating time and again that there is a power in you that he knows nothing about and perhaps could never replicate. And now he learns that you’ve managed to not only make pacts with the seven brothers, but to establish something more intimate, as well. He’s noticed that they seem to care about you, too, each in their own way. To think of all the things that he’s had to do… And here you’ve bonded effortlessly with these powerful demons, forming pacts without so much as a blood sacrifice. Perhaps an alliance with you would be useful, he thinks. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

You take another sip of your whiskey, and Solomon notes the cute way you tap your pen against the pad of paper you’re writing on as you think. His eyes glance over your upswept hair, then your pink cheeks. He lets his gaze wander further, down your neck to the shoulder peeking out from your oversized sweater, finally sweeping briefly over the gentle swell of your breasts. He’s always found you attractive in a distant sort of way – he really isn’t in the Devildom for recreation, after all. But tonight, with the warmth of the firelight on your face, he wonders if mixing business and pleasure might not be such a bad thing. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done to secure an ally. Solomon empties his own glass, savoring the smooth, invigorating heat of the liquor down his throat. He may even find wooing you to be enjoyable. Gentleman that he is, he’ll make sure you enjoy it, too.

Coming closer, Solomon sits beside you, placing his arm behind you on the couch. You flush at his sudden closeness, cursing the whiskey that’s made you so warm. Brushing off the butterflies in your stomach from his nearness, you tilt your notebook to show him the project outline you’ve developed.

“What do you think of this? I was thinking maybe we could develop two guides, one for each primary audience. So, treat each topic from both perspectives.” You point to the basic table you’ve drawn on the page with two columns, marked _Demons_ and _Humans_ , respectively. The rows of the table list topics like _Anatomy_ , _Contraception_ , and _Consent_. “What’s this?” Solomon asks, pointing to the row labeled _Ethics_. “I guess I was thinking we’d address what a healthy demon-human relationship would look like and how to make sure that each is treating their partner with care and respect.”

Solomon considers you briefly before voicing his question. “Don’t you think it’s strange to ask demons to consider the morality of their sexual behavior?” He finally asks. You look up at him, finding his face surprising close to yours, his blue eyes laced with a warmer shade of brown fixed on your face. “I– No, ethics is important to humans, and Lord Diavolo wants productive, responsible relationships between humans and demons. Especially when pacts are involved.” You explain, though now you’re doubting yourself, confronted with Solomon’s piercing gaze. “Um, maybe I can just call it something else.” You look back at the paper, biting the tip of your pen thoughtfully.

“May I?” Solomon asks, holding out his hand. You offer him the pen, careful not to touch his hand. He leans against you to reach the notepad, labelling another row of the table: _Polyamory_. You huff. “Calling me out, after all.”

“Nope.” Solomon bends his head closer to you as he scribbles on the pages. “It’s a very practical topic, considering demonic sexual practices.” His breath smells like whiskey, but you also catch a faint whiff of something alchemic, metallic, coming from his clothes. The scent is oddly pleasant, and you find yourself watching his lips as he makes his second suggestion. “What about this one?” Solomon labels another row: _Erogenous Zones_.

You glance down at the paper, giggling. “I didn’t know we’re writing for _Cosmopolitan._ ” You joke. “Don’t you think that’s a tad specific? You sound like Asmo.”

Solomon laughs. “If I were Asmo, we’d also have rows dedicated to toys, kinks, and appropriate bedroom attire.”

You can’t help but agree, but hearing Solomon talk about these kinds of things when he’s so close to you is making you feel flustered. You try to shake it off. What had you expected? The project requires candid conversation regarding sexuality, after all. “Fine,” You say. “But I think that could go somewhere under ‘anatomy’.” Solomon brings the pen down across the paper, drawing an arrow from the newly labeled row up to the one marked _Anatomy_. “Fair enough.” He says good-humoredly.

Solomon drops the pen on the table, sinking back into the coach cushions, arm still resting lazily on the back of the sofa. “This is probably enough to start with.” He says. “Where would you like to begin filling in the details?”

You think it over, setting the notepad on the table and sitting back. Solomon shifts, making room for you in his half-embrace. The weight of his arm on your shoulders is strange, but nice, as his body rests warmly against your side. _Geez, the whiskey went straight to my head_. “Um, why don’t you start.” You mumble, closing your eyes. That should give you some time to get your thoughts in order, at least.

“Okay. What about starting with one of the categories I suggested?” Solomon offers.

“Sure.” You agree, absently leaning further back into the couch, consequently pressing your body against Solomon’s side. You can feel his chest rise and fall gently with his breathing.

Your eyes are still closed when Solomon’s fingers brush the nape of your neck lightly, barely making contact. You gasp quietly, enjoying the sensation while you relax into the buzzing warmth that the alcohol has created in your limbs. “Hmm,” You murmur, caught off guard by the way his caress sends soft sparks down your spine.

Solomon smiles gently at your reaction, at the pretty way you curve your head away, instinctively bending to invite his touch, exposing more of your sensitive skin to his fingers. He obliges, trailing his hand further over your exposed shoulder, across your collarbone, and down your neck. “Can you guess what category I’m thinking about?” He asks quietly.

You can only hum in reply, captivated by the brush of Solomon’s fingertips along your skin. You hold your breath as he glides his fingers up your throat until they’ve reached your chin, where he holds you still with a steady hand. You open your eyes as Solomon turns your chin towards him, meeting your surprised mouth with his, catching your lips in a kiss.

Your eyes are wide when he next looks into them. “Solomon-!” Your shocked gasp is sweet. He smiles, leaning in for another warm kiss, running his tongue over your parted lips, tasting the alcohol on your breath. You allow it, the gentleness of his lips lulling you into a dreamlike daze. _And what a dream_.

Solomon draws you into his arms until your chest is pressed against his, your breasts rising and falling with your breathing. You lean into his kiss, responding with your own efforts, tracing his tongue as it travels between you. Solomon moves his mouth to your bared shoulder, and you sigh as he covers it with kisses, each one leaving a reverberating tingle on the surface of your skin. If you’re not careful, things are going to get out of hand, and quickly.

“S-Solomon,” You breathe, pushing against his chest gently until his lips leave your shoulder. “I think you’ve maybe had too much to drink.” It’s more a confession of your own inebriation that it is a rebuff. As he looks at you, Solomon’s eyes glitter with desire, but he seems composed. Almost _too_ composed, you think, for someone who has had as much whiskey as he has. Or maybe you’re just a lightweight after going without real liquor for so long. You sit up, carefully disentangling yourself from his arms.

“I apologize.” The sorcerer says, and a sheepish smile flickers across his face. “I got carried away.” His genuineness sobers you, and you steady yourself with a deep breath. You’ve never thought of Solomon like this before. He’s nice, yes. And attractive. He’s clearly smart, and he gets along with everyone. But despite all this, you can’t shake the feeling that you don’t actually _know_ him. You clear your throat quietly. How long have you been lost in your thoughts? “It’s fine.” You drop your eyes to the table littered in notes. “Maybe we should pick this up tomorrow. Or this weekend.”

You look so serious, Solomon thinks, but you can’t hide what you’re feeling; the rosy blush in your cheeks isn’t just from the whiskey, he’s sure of it. “If that’s what you want, MC.” He says.

You nod. “I’m pretty tired, and like you said, I think we have the basic outline done.”

Solomon watches you shuffle through the papers on the table, tidying up. You seem lost in your thoughts, focused intently on the work in front of you. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He gathers his things up in a matter of seconds. The fireplace crackles in the silence. “Goodnight, MC.”

“Goodnight.” Your voice follows Solomon out the door of the common room.

Groaning, you drop your face in your hands the moment he’s gone. _What was_ that _about?_ Your heart is still pounding, sending echoes of Solomon’s touch across your skin. You can almost feel the way his lips brushed across your shoulder, so soft, but firm, purposeful. Almost like…

Your eyes snap open as you straighten up. Solomon didn’t kiss you because he wasn’t in control of himself. No, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He had _decided_ to kiss you, to touch you like that, to hold you close enough to make you melt in his arms – but _why_? Have you been missing something? Does Solomon actually like you, or is this just… _what_?

You sigh, kicking your feet up as you lie back on the couch. You really are tired, and your mind is too warm and fuzzy to suss out Solomon’s motives. Maybe you can talk to someone who knows him better, like Asmo. Later. In the morning, when you can think a little more clearly.

Besides, your body is still buzzing, a humming, dream-like aura draping you from head-to-toe – Solomon’s kiss has awoken a quiet longing that calls softly for your attention. You recall the warm closeness of his body, the softness of his hair on your forehead, the persistently gentle prodding of his tongue. You know everyone else is either asleep or otherwise occupied, and that you’re alone, the snapping of the logs in the fireplace the only noise in the dimly lit common room. Slowly, your hand slips down your body to your thighs, then between them. Without thinking, you palm yourself lazily outside your clothes, responding to your body’s growing need.

You let the dull pleasure of your own touch wash over you, and with it, thoughts of Solomon’s lips on your neck resurface. Your pulse quickens as you remember the pressure of his mouth, so sure, so direct. Had his hands been at your back? Maybe they slip up into your hair, tugging gently, but with a level of control that matches his kiss. Maybe he pulls you into his lap, until you can feel how aroused he is by your body pressing against his. Maybe he lets you touch him there, lets you feel how much he wants you.

Mindlessly, you slip your hand beneath your underwear, twitching at your own sensitivity as you find yourself surprisingly slick. You use your fingers more urgently now, gliding through your own wetness so easily. You imagine Solomon’s body unclothed, how it would move over you, under you. How would he sound moaning your name? You slip two fingers into your heat as images of Solomon and you rush behind your closed eyelids.

You pleasure yourself sweetly, taking your time, until your panties are drenched and you feel feverish. As you curl your fingers inside your hot slit, you think of Solomon, of what he tastes like, what he feels like. You moan quietly as you bend your knees up for a better, deeper reach, wondering what Solomon looks like when he reaches his limit, just how his face contorts at the height of his pleasure. Eyes shut tight, your lips part with your shallow breaths as your fingers work. You picture the red flush of his cheeks, the widening of his strange blue-brown eyes as he finally loses that self-assured control, as he moans your name between panting breaths, and finally –

 _SLAM!_ Solomon’s books hit the floor with a loud thud, startling you. He’s in the doorway, scrambling to pick up several volumes on interpreting the Voynich manuscript that he’s just borrowed from Satan before heading back to Purgatory Hall. “I left my D.D.D. here.” He says, straightening up, but you barely hear him, your ears ringing with embarrassment as you try to hide the hand you’ve hastily removed from your pants. _He saw_. He had to have seen. Sitting up quickly, you run a hand through your hair and decide to pretend nothing happened, even though you can feel your face burning. “Oh,” You manage, clearing your throat. Sure enough, there’s Solomon’s D.D.D. sitting on the table.

Solomon starts walking towards you, somewhat cautiously, until he’s within arm’s reach of his phone. “Well, goodnight again.” You say, looking anywhere but at him, waiting for him to pick up his device and leave.

But he doesn’t.

Slowly, Solomon sets his books down on the table, the dull thud of the texts surprisingly loud in the quietness of the room. Then, the air shifts as Solomon reaches towards you, stepping closer, until his cool hands are cupping your face. Your breath hitches, and you slowly raise your eyes to meet his. He looks so thoughtful, you think, his bright eyes fixed on you. He’s always calm, measured, almost calculating. Here, standing inches away from you with your face in his hands, he’s no different. At least, not that you can see. But as he looks at you, Solomon brushes his thumb over your lips, and you part them with a shaky breath.

“Solomon,” You start, lips tickling against his thumb, unsure of what you’re going to say. The rushing in your veins is persistent, urging you to draw him back into your arms, to finish what you’d started earlier. Interrupted so abruptly, as you have been, your body is positively aching for Solomon’s touch. And honestly, for so much more. But, you think, that probably isn’t a good idea. Especially if he _does_ have feelings for you. “Solomon, I don’t—I don’t know if I feel that way about you.” Once again, you’re struck with the impression that, whether or not Solomon’s feelings are involved, the sorcerer has his intentions. And the longer he holds your face, the more willing you become to learn what those intentions might be.

You look sincere, Solomon thinks, but he knows what he saw. “MC,” He says, smiling at you once again in that way that puts you off your guard. “You don’t have to feel anything _more_ for me. Anything… romantic.” He feels your cheeks heat in his hands and your hot breath against his thumb. He lowers his voice. “But if you feel something now, you should say so.”

You swallow, unable to reply; you feel a hell of a lot right now – including a slight fuzziness from the liquor – and all these feelings pound in your chest with your racing pulse, bleeding into one another, clamoring for your attention.

“MC,” Solomon feels his heartbeat increase as he reads your expression. You _do_ want him, and Solomon can feel his body starting to respond in kind. Your lips are so smooth, your breath so warm… He slips his thumb into your mouth, pressing lightly against the softness of your tongue. You instinctively suck, enveloping his thumb in the warm wetness of your mouth before you can think about it. Embarrassed, you freeze, your eyes still connected with his. The air around you both hangs motionless, taut with tension, until the clamoring in your chest reaches its breaking point.

The moment shatters, ignites, when you reach up with both arms to pull Solomon down towards the couch, pressing your mouth to his eagerly. He catches your lips in his, much less gently than before, and you’re surprised to feel him breathing so hotly – maybe het isn’t as detached as he seemed standing in front of you. Finding your desire reciprocated, you shove Solomon onto the couch. Climbing onto his lap, you seek out his lips again as you press your body against his.

You’re not sure which one of you removes your sweater, but suddenly there’s cool air against your torso, making you shiver. Solomon’s hands climb up your back, his fingers feather-light on your skin, making you gasp into his kisses. Lips never leaving yours, Solomon unfastens your bra, removing it completely to expose your chest. He can feel your stiff nipples through his own clothes as you push up against him, and he moves his hands between your bodies to roam over your breasts, deliciously round and soft to his touch.

Impatiently, Solomon dips his head to suck at your nipples, and you moan, arching your back and half pushing, half pulling at his shoulders, fighting the overstimulation. You’re already so sensitive after the attention you’ve given yourself, and Solomon’s tongue works in wonderful ways, teasing and soothing until your nipples feel raw. All the while, his hands continue to massage your breasts, and you grind your hips up against his lap until you feel the incredible hardness of his manhood rubbing against your heat through both your clothes. In the blur of your desire, you remember that this is exactly what you had wanted.

Solomon reaches into your pants, beneath your underwear, between your legs, inserting two fingers into your wet slit. You gasp at the suddenness of the welcome intrusion, folding against Solomon’s warm chest, forcing him to release his mouth’s hold on your breast. Your thighs shudder, aching to squeeze his hand tightly between them as he finds the place that makes your eyes close in pleasure.

“I’m glad you didn’t finish without me earlier.” Solomon’s voice draws your eyes up to his face, which bears a light flush, warming his cool countenance considerably. _He did see_. You’d known he had, but to hear him admit it makes you hot all over. Curling his fingers inside your walls, Solomon feels your chest hitch with your uneven breath as you moan against his shoulder. Your face is too red to record yet another blush, but you bite your lip with a whimper. “MC, tell me what you were thinking about.” He croons, watching your eyelids flutter as you look up at him, head on his chest, while he pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping heat.

Solomon’s warm breath tickles your upturned face. _Fuck, what hadn’t you been thinking about_? More than anything, you want to see that look on his face. You want to make him lose that perfect control. Without waiting for Solomon to stop his work between your legs, you pick yourself up from his lap, lowering yourself onto the floor in front of the couch.

Crouching on your knees, you grab Solomon roughly by his belt, working quickly to undo the buckle. He watches you, letting you fuss with the fastenings until you’ve gained access, groaning as you pull his hard length from his pants. Solomon sucks in his breath as your fingers encircle his girth, already so hot in your hand. Tipping your face up at him, you begin stroking him, lubricating his member with your saliva. His hips buck, and he moans at the first full passes you make over the sensitive head of his cock. “Sh-shit!” Solomon stutters at the skilled way you pump him, your hand moving quickly, but somehow keeping the tempo just right. He groans your name, but doesn’t look away, determined to stay focused on the hungry heat behind your eyes as you stroke him.

It isn’t long before Solomon is on edge, as you use both hands to work the full length of his cock, relubricating as necessary. But this isn’t all he wants. Your hand stroking his hard length grips him more tightly, and he throbs in your grasp. “MC,” Solomon says huskily, just above a whisper. “I want to fuck you.”

It’s like he’s read your mind. You relinquish your grip on his member to return to his lap, pushing your mouth to his until you feel his tongue down your throat. With a groan, Solomon pulls away, breathing heavily. He licks his lips, fighting his own need to have you. “Are you sure?” Solomon asks, looking at you steadily, hands on your shoulders. He admires the lovely flush in your cheeks, feeling a sudden softness towards you. But no, that isn’t why he’s asking; if you regret this later, it will all have been for nothing.

You take stock of yourself, of the aching desire in your core, the steady hum resounding throughout your body. And as you look at Solomon, your attention wanders outside of yourself, to the blue-brown ombre of his eyes, the soft wisps of his white hair, the faint color in his cheeks, and the firm grip of his hands on your shoulders. God, _yes_ , you want this. “I’m sure.”

Urgently, Solomon strips off your pants while you stand, pulling your soaked panties down almost roughly and helping you step out of them as you balance yourself on his shoulders. Guiding you by your hips, Solomon helps you to the couch, where he directs you to kneel on all fours before he hastily removes his own pants.

Intuiting his plan, you immediately bend over the arm of the couch, facing the fireplace, knees resting on the cushions. Solomon lines up his member with your entrance from behind, a hand resting on your ass. You’re filled suddenly as Solomon brings his hips flush with yours, thrusting the full length of his cock inside you, making you cry out. You cling to the arm of the couch, fingers scrambling as you whimper against the leather. He does it again, dragging his hard length out and ramming back into you with a moan. Solomon’s hands travel your back until he reaches your shoulders, grabbing them for added leverage as he starts to thrust. You’re so _tight_ and _wet_ ; you’ve warmed yourself up so well.

The flames in the fireplace dance energetically, higher than you remember them being, throwing you both in light and shadow. “Fuck,” Solomon moans your name, and the soft sound is even better than you imagined it. “S-Solomon,” You whine, enamored with the feeling of him inside you, with the rough but steady way he’s taking you. “Yes, _fuck_. Right there. Don’t stop!” Your voice is thick and lewd as you grip the expensive furniture. “ _Please_ , d-don’t stop…” Your words are lost in a whimper as Solomon’s grip tightens on your shoulders, and he thrusts his hips forward for a deliberately deep stroke, leaning the weight of his body into you as he feels you tremble under him, your walls clenching around his cock greedily.

Solomon moves a hand to your hair, tugging sharply. The sounds you’re making as you cling to the sofa are growing embarrassingly loud, an erotic blend of moans and rambling praise sprinkled with his name, telling Solomon he’s fucking you just the way you like. It was a good call, casting that muffle spell when he entered the room while you were too distracted to notice. Solomon groans as he plunges into you again and again, each stroke hitting hard enough to shove your whole body ungracefully against the arm of the couch, his hips slapping loudly against your ass as you bounce.

You feel Solomon’s touch on your breasts, your hips, and the sharp tug in your hair reminds you his fingers are buried there, as well. _How is he doing this?_ You wonder, both alarmed and enthralled by the way he seems to be all over you, everywhere at once. You don’t have time to contemplate, however, as you abruptly lose your balance, one knee sliding off the edge of the couch. You’re almost able to catch yourself with Solomon’s help, but then, suddenly, you’re both tumbling to the floor of the common room. Vaguely, you register the sound of broken glass. _The whiskey!_ One of you must have bumped the table.

You’re on your back, still reeling from the sudden change in perspective. “Are you okay?” Solomon asks as he bends over you, concerned. The two of you are lying on the rug in front of the fireplace. You nod, a bit breathless. “Y-yes, I’m fine.” You meet his gaze, panting lightly. “Good.” Solomon nearly purrs, settling himself between your knees. You gasp as he strips off his black turtleneck to reveal a body covered with intricate occult tattoos. Every inch of him that is normally covered in clothes is marked with them. The flicker of firelight dances over the black designs until they appear to move. You stare, fascinated, but Solomon doesn’t give you time to ask questions, coming down to you for a kiss.

Gripping your wrists, Solomon pushes them up and over your head, effectively pinning you to the carpet. He re-enters you, making you moan. His renewed pace is rushed, and your knees are bent up and around his hips, holding him to you as you rock against the floor with each deep thrust that Solomon makes. You can feel the heat of the fireplace somewhere close behind you – hot, but not dangerously so. The friction of the carpet at your back threatens to leave rugburns, but you couldn’t care less, urging Solomon on with every ecstatic whimper.

Solomon’s tattooed torso leans over you, his eyes glowing with firelight as he looks down at you. His lips are parted, face flushed, light hair tousled with effort. “MC, I’m close.” He pants. You whine as his grip tightens on your wrists, his breaths becoming more like grunts as his pace picks up. The feeling of him moving inside you melts into a single white-hot, shimmering sensation. You moan as your body tightens, and Solomon feels your walls clench around him. “S-solomon! I’m cumming!” You arch your back beneath Solomon, and he releases your wrists to plant both hands on the rug, grunting as his final thrusts bring him to his limit as you reach yours, and all you can see are sparks, combusting like flaming glitter in the blinding heat of your release.

The room is quiet again, the crackle of the fireplace once more subdued as you and Solomon catch your breath beside one another. You rest there for some time, neither one of you saying anything. The sorcerer is the first to sit up, looking around to see what had shattered. He locates the broken glass, which thankfully had fallen off the far side of the table. But as his eyes land on your body, he notices a trickle of red on your calf. “MC,” He says softly. “You have a cut.”

You lift yourself up on your elbows to watch him gently take your leg in his hands, resting it over his lap. “It’s shallow.” He says reassuringly. “But you might feel cold for a moment.” Even with his warning, you aren’t prepared for the icy sensation that assaults your calf when Solomon moves his hand over it, whispering words you either can’t hear or don’t understand – you’re not sure which. But the sensation quickly loses its sharp, frigid edge, dulling into a pleasant chill that seems to soak into your skin.

“Are you alright?” Solomon asks, looking up at you.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath. “That feels… minty.”

“I thought mint was a flavor.” Solomon teases, gently running his fingertip along the fading pink line on your calf. His touch is soothing, scintillating, and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t rushed things. You’re sure this human has a few tricks up his sleeve he has yet to show you.

Solomon reads your face, gently setting your leg back down to return to you. Still naked, he lies beside you on the rug, one arm propping up his head, and pulls you towards him, holding you close. You wrap your arms around him, your heart beating rapidly again at his closeness. “You know, we don’t have to stop here.” Solomon hums in your ear. “Maybe we can try some new things, things you haven’t tried – if you like?”

“N-now? Already?” You ask, your voice wavering as Solomon chuckles, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “I know a few spells that are helpful in these situations.” Solomon mumbles against your skin, giving your neck a kiss. “I can go for as long as you need me to.”

***

Solomon’s magic made quick work of the mess in the common room, and no one, not even Lucifer, was able to tell what a long, satisfying night you and Solomon spent there together. Satan did pick up on echoes of an enchantment emanating from a certain crystal drinking glass, and even suspected it had been magically mended, but he didn’t think much of it. You and Solomon finished the project without further incident, and Diavolo praised you both for your thoroughness. You’ve been around one another in groups since, but you haven’t spoken privately, and it seems like things are pretty much back to normal. Which, you think, is really for the best.

About a week after completing the project for Diavolo, you enter the common room to find Satan and Asmo already relaxing there. Satan’s reading a book and doesn’t look up as you enter, but Asmo’s face lights up when he sees you.

“Oh! MC! You’ve got a present, love.” Asmo picks up a small black giftbox decorated with a bow tied with gold ribbon.

“Who’s it from?” You ask, taking it from Asmo’s slender fingers. It’s not your birthday, or any other holiday – human or Demon – that you know of. You inspect the package, noting your name scrawled in gold ink in the upper left-hand corner.

“Doesn’t say.” Satan remarks from his chair without looking up. But he’s curious, you notice, given the way his eyes barely move while he reads.

“Perhaps you have a secret admirer~” Asmo gushes as you take your seat next to him on the couch. “Ooh, wouldn’t that be fun!”

Satan looks up at that, watching Asmo lean over you affectionately as you inspect the package. “Asmo, attracting the attention of other demons would be dangerous, not fun.” He frowns.

“Oh hush, Satan. I’m sure it’s nothing _serious._ Besides, we’ll watch out for her, won’t we?” Asmo smiles warmly at you, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning in close to wrap an arm around you. “Now go ahead and open it already! I’ve been waiting half the day for you to get home.”

Satan goes back to pretending to read his book; it’s not like he’s also been waiting here just to see you open it, or anything.

You untie the gold ribbon, lifting the lid off of the small black box to see a narrow glass vial, almost like a perfume bottle, stoppered with a simple gold cork. With the vial is a note:

_MC,_

_This is a potion like the one you’ve read about in the Harrison Porter novels. It’s an aromatic, meant to be worn, that creates an irresistible scent that smells different for each person, depending on what they find most pleasing. On different occasions, it may even smell differently to the same individual. I thought you might enjoy it._

_P.S. I wouldn’t recommend wearing it around Beel. I’m worried he might actually eat you, if you do._

_– Solomon_

“It’s from Solomon.” You say out loud, taking extra care to steady the surprise in your voice.

You set aside the note and unstopper the bottle hesitantly, wafting the perfume towards your nose and taking a sniff. _Lavender_ , you think as the first note hits. _And rain. Like a fresh spring day._ It’s lovely, you think. You close your eyes to concentrate, and the scent shifts, shaping into something new. _Something warm,_ you determine, _like amber. Or cedarwood. A fireplace._ You inhale deeply once more. _Hm, no, there’s something else there._ You can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oooh~! How interesting!” Asmo’s picked up your note and is reading it unabashedly. “Asmo!” You frown at him. “You should ask before reading someone else’s letters.”

“Let me see.” Satan says, closing his book. Asmo passes him the note. You huff, rolling your eyes.

“Can I try?” Asmo asks cutely in your ear, and you hand him the bottle. The beautiful demon brings the vial to his nose and inhales, eyes closed. “Mmm, rose! How perfect!” He chuckles as he inhales again. “And – oh! Interesting!” His face furrows slightly as he tries to decipher the scent. “Hmm.” He frowns. “That’s unusual. I’m not sure what that is.” He inhales again. “Here, you try, Satan.”

Satan looks up from the note in his hands to take the small vial from Asmo’s delicate fingers. “Why would Solomon give this to you?” Satan asks, taking a small sniff.

“We worked on a project together. I guess he’s just saying thank you.” You offer, hoping that this explanation will be enough to satisfy the cynical demon. It’s not like you have a better answer, anyway. You’ve already decided that _we had sex here on this couch last week_ was not something Satan needed to know, especially since it’s unlikely to happen again. But, once again, you’re left wondering what Solomon’s aim has been in all this.

“It’s kind of an odd gift, though, isn’t it?” Satan continues, looking confused as he inhales more deeply. Suddenly, his green eyes jump back to you, and he blushes deeply. He hands the bottle back to Asmo, clearing his throat.

“Well, what did you smell?” Asmo asks excitedly.

“N-nothing.” Satan says, opening his volume again. “Books.”

“That’s it?” Asmo asks, visibly disappointed.

“Books and apple pie.” Satan amends, but his eyes flicker back to your face and then away again. You smile at his focused expression as he turns the page in his book. You’ll have to ask him about it later. But at least he’s stopped his questions for the time being.

“Hmph.” Asmo replies, attempting another sniff. “That’s not very sexy at all.” His forehead furrows more deeply. “Mine is odd. Something… hot. Like-”

You catch a whiff of the liquid as Asmo holds it next to you. “Like sparks.” You say, finally figuring out the note that you hadn’t been able to place. “Sparks and…” Your voice dies out. _And whiskey_ , you realize, feeling your face flush rapidly. _Whiskey and fire and something alchemic…_

“Yes! Like…sparks.” Asmo looks at you quizzically, then at the perfume, suddenly quiet. His face is uncharacteristically serious. “Asmo?” You ask quietly, watching his amber eyes with concern. His lovely locks fall gently over his face, charming as ever. 

“Hmm? Oh!” Asmo hands the bottle back to you with a smile. “Here you go, love.” His voice is friendly enough, but as you pack the bottle carefully away, you notice the demon’s usual liveliness is more thoughtful than usual.

You enjoy wearing the perfume around the House of Lamentation, carefully avoiding being alone with Beel when you do— _MC, you smell delicious._ —just in case. You learn that the potion does, in fact, smell different to each one of them, and even different to you, depending on your mood. You learn that, for Satan, the vial smells like books and your shampoo. Mammon said at first that he smells flowers— _Y_ _a know, the pretty pink kind, grow on trees?—_ but you were later able to get him to confess that the top note of the fragrance is freshly minted Grimm, which you haven’t stopped teasing him about since. You still haven’t been able to get Lucifer to tell you what the fragrance is for him, but whenever you wear it, you notice he finds it very difficult to concentrate on his work. Naturally, you always make sure to dab on a little extra right before Student Council meetings.

And sometimes, after a long day, when you bring out the perfume just for you, you catch that scent again: the intoxicating aroma of something metallic, alchemic, blended with the smooth warmth of whiskey. And with it returns your body’s hushed neediness, calling quietly for your attention. The fragrance and the memory of Solomon’s touch bring you to that sweet peak quickly, without fail, every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Tattooed Solomon is not my original headcanon! I don’t want to name the original artist here in case they’d rather not be tagged in le smuts. 😬
> 
> Also, shout-out to some discord friends who tried to help me figure out Solomon’s eye color (muddy lake water??).
> 
> This might be my last fic for a hot minute. But there are still some things in the works, so I’ll eventually publish something else, I’m sure. Thanks for being here and supporting me <3 <3 <3 I hope you liked it.


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